by Paula Cox
“You can’t just… This isn’t the world for you,” he argued, toned arms bulging as he crossed them, their stances mirroring one another. “I don’t want you breaking into places just to—”
“He’s my father, Nash,” Eliza remarked tersely, her temper prickling. “I have to fight for him. I didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter.” She paused, swallowing hard, then added, “You didn’t leave me much of a choice.”
“Look, I told you about all this because I care about you.” He turned away, his expression hard and distant, and began putting his various weights into some semblance of organization. Eliza watched, arms still folded across her chest, trying to ignore the fact that every breath she took she was breathing him in, his familiar scent, both comforting and arousing, all but radiating from his sweater.
“Okay, so—”
“I didn’t tell you so you could throw yourself into this shit and get your hands dirty, too,” Nash continued, as he straightened up and observed his line of impossibly heavy-looking weights. She’d probably break if she tried to lift any of them. “If we took our sexual relationship out of the bedroom and turned it into an everyday thing, I’d forbid you from doing any of this. But seeing as I’m not your dominant out here…”
“I can do what I want,” she finished for him, her eyes narrowing. “Must be tough for you.”
“It is, but not for the reason you think.” He pinched the bridge of his nose briefly, eyes clenched shut, then sighed again. Eliza was sick of the sighs. “This is a fucked up world that you’re just hovering on the edge of. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. It’s dangerous, and I don’t want you involved. You… I want to keep you safe.”
“From who?” she demanded.
“Everyone!” Nash threw his hands up, exasperation seeping from every pore. Stalking torwards her, he seemed like he was going to grab her, but he stopped at the last moment, and Eliza backed up until the backs of her legs knocked against the couch, throwing her arm out to steady herself. “From the Phoenixes, from your dad, from yourself! Don’t you see that, Eliza? I want you to distance yourself from this person you’re on the verge of becoming.”
“What? A confident woman who—”
“Who might just get herself killed if someone thinks she’s sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong.”
Her eyes widened, tears threatening to surface. “Nash!”
“It’s true. The danger is real. It’s not a TV show or some bullshit thing that won’t matter once you graduate. This is real, Eliza. I told you about it as a courtesy, so it wouldn’t be a surprise if something happened to your dad, not so you could get involved.”
A chill coursed down her spine, her skin prickling, but she refused to back down. With a gulp, she drew in a shaky breath and tried to hide the fact that her hands shook. Eliza held his gaze, her shoulders back and chin raised defiantly. “Well… You can see why I had to get involved, didn’t you? I had no other choice.”
“Eliza—”
“Do you want to know what I found or not?”
Chapter 31
Of course he wanted to know. Nash wasn’t an asshole—he didn’t want to see an innocent man executed by Micky or Toby or Hammond. He might have done a lot of fucked up shit in his life, but he wasn’t a heartless bastard by any means. Eliza was… important to him. Nash didn’t want to see her suffer.
But if he said yes now, he was just opening the door a little wider, beckoning Eliza into his world. Soon she’d be immersed in it, shrouded in its thick cloud of danger and drugs and darkness. Suffocating. She’d suffocate in his world, and he just couldn’t have it. She was too good for this—too pure a woman, their sex life aside, to become wrapped up in the underbelly of Blackwoods.
Looking at her face though, the desperation in her eyes, Nash found his response dying on the tip of his tongue. With another firm clearing of his throat, he turned and stalked off to the kitchen, needing the space to find his courage again. Soft footfalls followed him, swiftly and at his heels, and they stopped when he did at the fridge.
“You want a beer?” he asked, knowing she wouldn’t, then fished out a bottle as she huffed.
“Nash!”
He could practically feel her stewing behind him, a little white-hot ball of rage as he blatantly ignored her. Focused on the task at hand, he went for his cupboard and pulled out a glass, then found the bottle opener. A few seconds later he was filling the glass with beer. Normally, he’d drink it straight from the bottle like any sane fucker, but he just needed something to busy himself. Once he was done drinking it, he’d head for the shower, maybe ask if she wanted to join him. His workout might have been interrupted by her arrival, but he’d still worked up quite a sweat.
“I have him at a gala on one of the nights there was a… a hit,” she stated, following Nash out of the kitchen so close that she stumbled into him when he stopped abruptly. “I have his journals, his records. He was doing something all the nights when people were killed.”
He groaned. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It’s an alibi!”
“No one’s saying he pulled the trigger, Eliza,” Nash snapped, looking to her with a glare. All around her he could see the darkness consuming her, piquing her curiosity and dragging her deeper down this hole. He had to put a stop to it before he lost her forever. “You don’t need to be at the scene of the crime to be responsible for it happening. I have good leads that show him moving funds around to pay for something big. Something like a hit.”
“But… But…” Eliza went for her bag and pulled out a file folder full of what appeared to be black-and-white photos. “No. I have… I have proof that he was busy. He’s been busy for years now. There were no mysterious appointments in his diary, no secret meetings—”
“And who would record secret meetings?” He gave a cold laugh without meaning to, and he hated himself for it when he saw her face fall. This must be killing her. After taking a quick sip of his beer, he set the glass aside and moved in close to her. This time she didn’t run. She didn’t even flinch away when he set his hands on her slim shoulders, missing the feel of them—the feel of her. “Eliza, I’m so sorry. I know this is hard. I mean, who just blindly accepts that their dad is a bad guy, but—”
“He’s not,” she hissed, tears brimming over her eyes and trailing down her cheeks as she shrugged him off, “a bad guy.”
“Eliza…” He trailed off, unable to come up with any other valid argument besides the most obvious. “I just want to keep you safe from him. All my evidence against your dad is damning.”
Eliza stared at him for a long moment after that, and it was only then that he realized she was shaking. Trembling. Her legs, her hands, her lips. Maybe it was from the cold, but Nash wasn’t that naïve. All he wanted was to wrap her in his arms and hold her close. Whisper in her ear that he’d protect her, that this fight wouldn’t spill over into her life, and that he wouldn’t let any of the guys he knew use her to get to her dad. She had to be worried about that kind of shit, right?
“Safe f-from my father?” she asked when he moved toward her, raising a hand to stop him. She’d painted her nails recently—baby blue, like the sweater she’d been knitting the last time he was at her dorm apartment. He nodded, hands itching to run over her arms and drag her close, but he knew to keep his space. Still shaking, Eliza swallowed hard, her eyes still watering, and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “He would never hurt me.”
“I’m sorry, Eliza, but he may not be the guy you think he is, and—”
“Stop!”
“And I don’t want him to hurt you because—”
“Shut up, Nash!” They both fell silent at her outburst, Nash’s temper set off somewhat—though it wasn’t her fault she was emotional like this. None of this could be easy. She was allowed to be as distraught as she needed to be to process it. But suddenly she was taking off his sweater and shoving it back into his hands—and he didn’t want her to
go, but she was. Stomping toward the door, Eliza grabbed her discarded wet shirt and tugged it back on, hiding her beautiful body from him after just a brief glimpse.
“We can still talk this through, Eliza,” he insisted, and this time it was Nash following her too closely. The only difference was that he could physically stop her if he wanted, though the small voice of reason told him that it would be a dick move. “Don’t go.”
“I have to,” she snarled, yanking her coat on a little more forcefully than necessary. Her hair was starting to dry, the soft blonde strands springing up to form angelic waves around her face. Nash wanted to run his hands over them, bury his nose in them and inhale deeply.
“You don’t—”
“My father is a good man,” Eliza snapped, glaring at him with one hand on the doorknob, her bag thrown across her shoulder. “Flawed, like everyone else, but deep down he’s good. I’ve found evidence to prove his innocence, but it’s clear to me you just aren’t interested.”
“No, it’s just that—”
“And I don’t know what else to say at this point,” she carried on, her voice rising to a volume he’d never heard before, a clearness that rang so true it hurt him. “It seems like you’re just trying to put a wedge between us, or something, and I don’t… I can’t do this anymore.”
“Eliza…” His voice cracked, breaking at the implication, as his throat seemed to tighten with emotion. The tears were still rolling down her cheeks.
“I can’t do this anymore with you,” she whispered, lifting her eyes to meet his, looking more collected than he might have expected in this particular moment. “I’m done.”
Before he could force her name out again, so desperate to call out to her, she was out the door and gone. Nash stared at it for a long while, his gaze fixed on the dark wood and the round metal knob, until he finally blinked and pressed his back to the wall. As he slid to the floor, he suddenly realized his eyes were watering too, and with Eliza gone, he saw no reason to wipe away the lone tear he let fall.
Everything was fucked.
Everything.
Chapter 32
“In order to keep you fucks safe out on the road, we’ve got a few extra security measures in place for the next couple of deals. So you all better pay attention, because I’m not repeating myself, nor will anyone explain the plans again once this meeting is adjourned.”
There were a few groans and grunts through the crowded room, and Nash let out a long sigh before downing half of his beer. It was strange seeing the MC’s bar with all the lights on—it always was. Like going behind the scenes at an amusement park and seeing how all the special effects and rides worked. Most of the guys there, like Nash, had probably been craving the familiar dim lighting as soon as they arrived. Toby, meanwhile, had been yammering on about the upcoming coke dealings for almost an hour now. Which was fair, given the circumstances of the last few deals, but good God was he ever bored. Beside him, Micky was texting his wife with a lecherous grin on his lips—sexting more likely. Unable to help himself, Nash pulled out his own phone, only to frown when Eliza’s name wasn’t on the main screen.
No texts. No calls. No nothing since she fled his apartment in tears a few nights ago. He hadn’t contacted her either, but not because he didn’t want to. Nash had been silent because he respected her enough to shut up and back off. As much as he wanted to bust down her door and draw her into his arms, he didn’t because while he might have been an asshole to some degree, he wasn’t an outright bastard with no regards for her feelings.
But then again, if he wasn’t a bastard, he wouldn’t have dragged her into this mess in the first place. He had no one to blame for the downfall of their relationship but himself. Exhaling heavily, he unlocked his phone screen and poked around until he was in his contacts area. There she was. Her profile picture beamed up at him as his thumb hovered over her name, wishing he had the courage to just press down and see what would happen.
But he didn’t. Because, apparently, he was a bastard and a coward. When Micky chuckled softly beside him, their shared little round table covered in discarded peanut shells and beer stains from last night’s patrons, Nash locked his phone swiftly and shoved it back in the pocket of his leather coat, hoping that if it was out of sight, Eliza would be out of mind. It was pushing seven thirty on a Thursday night. In an hour, the doors would open to drunkards and dancers and coke fiends. All sorts wandered through the dingy establishment, most of the patrons knowing that it was a place for the Steel Phoenixes to conduct whatever business they saw fit. Still, the MC didn’t like airing their dirty laundry in front of customers, which meant Toby ought to be wrapping up sometime soon.
And since Nash wasn’t the one doing any coke runs in the near future, the meeting was basically just an hour and a half of his life he could never get back.
When Toby finally called the end of the meeting, the sea of leather jackets and studs dispersed, many headed for the bar, and some, like Nash, headed for the door.
“You don’t want to stay for a drink?” Micky asked, as Nash checked all his pockets quickly to make sure he had everything. “Feel like I owe you a round.”
“More like eight,” Nash said with a chuckle, shooting his friend a small smile. “No. I’m done for the night.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Hey, Nash…” Micky set a hand on his shoulder just as he was about to go, the gesture stopping him in his tracks. Nash raised an eyebrow, thrown by the odd but kind expression on his old pal’s face. He almost asked if Micky was high, but thought better of it.
“What can I do for you, Mick?”
“I know the other night was probably tough on you,” his friend said, and neither of them had to specify which night was in question. Nash knew. It was the night they told him to step up and stop being “swayed by pussy” or lose his hard-earned place in the MC. How the fuck could he ever forget?
Nash waved him off with a shake of his head. “We really don’t have to talk about it.”
“I just want you to know it wasn’t personal.” His friend sought Nash’s gaze, his thick eyebrows up. “You know that, right? We just want to find this guy and make him pay. If it’s the dean, we’re gonna act on it, no matter who you’re fucking.”
“Okay, okay,” Nash muttered, stepping around Mick and shrugging. “We don’t have to talk about it. I know it wasn’t personal.”
Nor was the fucking thing an issue anymore, given that Eliza had said she was done with him.
“Nash?” Mick called out to him as he worked his way through the crowd of bikers, but Nash pretended not to hear. It wasn’t a conversation he wanted to continue, nor was he interested in hanging around to have a beer with anyone in the club tonight. Ever since his little meeting with the big boys, who all but handed his ass to him, he wasn’t really in the mood for socializing. If Micky brought up his somewhat antisocial attitude, it’d be easy to bullshit his way through an explanation if he needed to. Nash had done it before.
Before he left, avoiding eye contact with any of the other guys who’d been at his disciplinary hearing, Nash popped into the coat check room near the front door to retrieve his helmet.
“Not staying tonight, Nash?” Doreen asked. She was Toby’s sister and had worked the coat check booth for the last ten years at least. While her hair was greying, her gorgeous smile and mischievous eyes could rival any college-aged beauty.
“Not in the mood, Doreen,” he replied, ignoring the urge to check his helmet over for bumps or scratches. Doreen knew better. She handed every helmet checked as if it was made of gold. She leaned forward, elbows on the divider between the coat check and bar territories, then let out a huff.
“You seem like you could use a good talk.” She cocked her head to the side, studying him. “Something on your mind?”
“Not in the mood for that either, I’m afraid.” Before turning for the door, Nash threw her a playful wink, but she was already busy with a few other guys, w
ho were looking to grab their checked helmets, too.
Once outside, Nash popped his jacket up to keep the cold from biting at his exposed neck. A misting of rain had blanketed Blackwoods all day, and now that night had settled and the streetlights had come to life, it didn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. Glancing up, his eyes lingered on the bar’s signage, Phoenix Rises, the letter work crafted out of glowing red lights against a white backdrop. He owned some miniscule percentage of this place, but tonight he felt more disconnected from it than ever.
Eliza had really done a number on him—and the only thing that gave him some peace of mind was that no one knew just how big a number it was except for him.
And maybe Eliza. Did she know just how much her absence hurt him? How much his heart ached at the thought of never holding her again, never kissing her, never fucking her? Maybe. Maybe not. It wasn’t his place to hope she was pining after him, whatever the situation may be. That wouldn’t be fair of him.